Lives Never Lived (But Not Forgotten)
by Alexandra Lyman
Summary: A little bit of canon divergence where Emma and Deckhand Hook had one night together in Isaac's version of the EF. He doesn't remember her, but he's the only one in this world who wants to.


They left the Jolly Roger behind (he leaves it without a single glance back, his familiar blue eyes locked firmly on her, and it makes her heart ache that he's unknowingly and unfailingly given it up _again_ ), taking with them a good amount of Blackbeard's gold to pay for the rest of the journey. Some gets spent on some new clothes, more practical than that poofy blue gown she was locked up in for God (or Gold - that bastard) knows how long. Two coins buys dinner for the three of them, meat, bread, cheese, and another pays for rooms in the inn. One for her and Henry, and the one next door for Killian.

That's he's chosen to follow them without question both surprises her and doesn't. He doesn't remember her, no one in this world does, but he's the only one who's looked at her as if he wants to recall his other - _real_ \- life. He's asked them a few questions about the world they came from, shy, hesitant, sneaking glances at her from under the hair falling on his forehead when Henry blithely tells him that he's a famous pirate in their land, that they go sailing every Sunday afternoon when the weather's good. He's obviously surprised, and pleased with what he hears, and during the meal she can't resist laying her hand over the hook where it rests on the table. The shock is plain on his face, and when she bumps his knee with hers he almost knocks over his mug of goat's milk.

Goat's milk. Oh, when they get back home she is going to have some fun with that one.

* * *

Henry falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. It's been a long day for her son, scouring Storybooke for them, tracking down Isaac, jumping into the book and making his way through this topsy-turvy world. She's proud of her son, so proud of the brave man he's becoming, a hero through and through, and she watches him sleep late into the night, until the lantern goes dark and her mind wanders to the man waiting on the other side of the wall. Somehow she knows that he's not asleep yet, that he's there thinking of what she'd said earlier.

 _"Very."_

Killian opens the door to her quiet knock, and his face lights up when he sees her standing in the hall.

"I was wondering if you would...I mean, I didn't want to be presumptuous, but if we are as close in your world as I hope-"

"We are," she interrupts him with a finger on his lips.

He's still adorably shy, when she closes the door behind her and starts to undress he looks down at the floor and scratches behind his ear, but she can see the heat when his eyes do meet hers, the familiar look of lust that she's seen on his face in the real world. He's in there, somewhere, Gold couldn't fully erase that man no matter how much he tried. This Killian Jones might be afraid of his own shadow, but he's brave enough to reach for her, to run his hand over the curve of her breast and the dip of her waist, to bend his forehead to hers and to press their lips together in yet another first kiss (what is this now, the fourth one? And each one like fireworks exploding under her skin, whether in Neverland, New York, the past, the present, or in this little inn, the man knows how to kiss)

In the light from the candle she peels the shirt from his shoulders and presses a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat leap and stutter under her hand. He's nervous, she can tell, he's shaking a little bit and trying desperately to hide it. His skin is dusted with scars, both familiar and unfamiliar, but the inside of his forearm is smooth and unblemished. The tattoo is gone, and while she's been just a teeny bit resentful at times of her boyfriend sporting another woman's name on his body (what can she say, she's the Saviour but she's still human), now she just feels sad. Gold's pettiness knows no bounds, he hasn't even left the memories of her intact. This Killian wouldn't know the name Milah, doesn't remember how much he loved her, how fiercely he fought for centuries in her name.

"What is it?" he asks, when she strokes her thumb over the spot where the heart and dagger should be.

"It's-" she hesitates, it's a sad story, and not one she wants to tell right now. He'll remember Milah again, she promises herself that. He deserves to remember her, "Never mind. I'll tell you later."

The bed is lumpy and she doesn't want to think about how infrequently the sheets are probably washed. But it doesn't matter because Killian is stretched out next to her, still hesitant but growing bolder. He kisses her again, a little firmer, a little more forceful. She's naked from the waist up and he buries his face in her breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers and sucking the other one into his mouth. Her back arches and she lets out a quiet moan.

"You are beautiful," Killian whispers, looking up, "Emma, do I tell you that in the other world? Do I tell you that every single day?"

"Not every day," she shakes her head with a laugh, "But yes, you've said it."

"I should say it every day. Remind me of that, when we meet again."

She pushes his hair back from his forehead and looks into his earnest eyes, "Okay. And you know, you're not so bad yourself, sailor."

Killian is and always has been more eloquent than she is. The words stick in her throat, she wants to tell him how handsome he is, how she's never seen eyes so blue in any of the worlds she's been to. She wants to tell him she loves him, but she can't, she can only slide down the bed and tease his flat stomach with kisses, pull his trousers over his hips and take him in her hand, hard and hot and velvety. His eyes roll back and his mouth falls open, she loves him in the way she knows how, with her stroking fingers and her mouth, bringing him to the brink and loving every gasp and cry he makes. He twines his fingers in her hair and his thighs are hard as oak under her palms, he mutters her name over and over again and pulls her away before he falls over the edge.

"We didn't have to stop," she protests, as he rolls them so she's lying on her back.

"Aye, we did," he insists, "I'll not just take my pleasure in your mouth, I want...I want to-"

Killian got her pants off and his hand found her, wet and _aching_ and she knew what he wanted. Memories of their first time flashed behind her eyes, when he had slowly and carefully made love to her. Though they'd had sex in all kinds of ways since, morning quickies, blowjobs in the shower, that night he'd gone down on her on the deck of the Jolly Roger and any curious soul strolling on the docks would have gotten an eyeful if they'd looked up and seen the sheriff with her legs wrapped around Captain Hook's head (she'd actually used magic to shield them, but it still _felt_ like a naughty public show), that first time had been like every romance novel she'd read as a teenager, all linked fingers and soft kisses, and as this Killian lies on top of her, gently pushing her knees open and brushing his lips to hers, it seemed like their second first time was going to go the same way.

He was different...but he was the same.

Their hands entwine on the pillow just above her head when he pushes inside with a fierce look of concentration, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. She feels the familiar stretch, the languid burn in her belly, and she smiles even as he frowns.

"How could I...how could I forget _this_?" he wonders.

"You'll remember."

She trails her free hand down his back as his nose nudges hers, he finds her lips and they kiss again while he starts to move. It's the same gentle rhythm that feels like the rocking of a ship, the roll of his hips like waves and the tide that pulls her under and sweeps her away.

"You'll remember," she whispers again, when his face is pressed to her neck and the sweat is cooling on their skin in the tiny, dark room, "Killian, you'll remember this."

Later, after he's died and come back again, after she's loved him and left him because she won't let the darkness consume another soul and will offer up hers willingly in it's place, he holds the dagger and runs his fingers over the raised lines of her name, and he whispers into the night, "Emma," he says,

"I remember."


End file.
